


a much updated ruin

by friendly_ficus



Series: from a much outdated style [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU where they're basically gods, Gen, too many commas and an overabundance of metaphor, vague nods to canon and even vaguer nods to d&d
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 13:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendly_ficus/pseuds/friendly_ficus
Summary: It's a dim, easy kind of evening - the unassuming sort that hides the great machinations of the world with ease. Seven people walk into the nondescript back room of a nondescript tavern and decide to fix the world.Or: "We're basically gods."





	a much updated ruin

**Author's Note:**

> Marisha makes one throwaway comment that percolates in my brain for months. Here's the introduction to the new fic.

   It's a gray evening, the kind where bank of clouds swallows up the sunset early, but it's warm in the tavern. The large fireplace at one end of the main room puts off enough heat to reach the band at the other end. It's a dim, easy kind of evening - the unassuming sort that hides the great machinations of the world with ease. After all, who would look for great answers to great questions in a place called _The Salty Orc_?

   The door opens, letting in a draft, and there's a brief stumble as a redhead (wearing antlers of all things, perhaps that's what's in fashion nowadays) trips her way into the bar. Most stick to their drinks and conversations, but a farmer casts her concerned look. (His daughter had a phase where she tripped over everything, too. He misses her.)

   "Y'alright there, lass?"

   She flushes, gives a smile with an embarrassed, "Oh I'm fine, just - you know, the doorway was a little higher than I thought and I've been walking for a while so I was a little lost in my own head and now I've been rambling for too long and-"

   He interrupts, mercifully, "Don't worry about it. You have a good evening, now."

   Her flush fades with a "thanks, you too!" as she makes her way up to the bartender. A few murmured lines of conversation later, and she's directed down the hall to a large room with a table. Maybe it's used for banquets?

   She settles into wait, tilting her head to catch the opening number from the band. If she listens hard enough, she can make out almost all of the song.

\---

   The front door opens again, but the fire is warm in the band is playing - when two lithe individuals enter, most pay them no mind.

   (There's a harmony part to this song, an odd mix of flute and fiddle that grate against each other, before rising and falling together. The music gets a little louder.)

   The girls' hair covers much of her face, and those looking closely might see her smile and dismiss the way her eyes scan the room, the exits. She keeps close to her brother, and there's a tightness to her movements. Where she is tense, he is fluid - his steps make no sound as he crosses the floor, and the grin on his face is playful. He moves with the ease of a man certain of his place in the world, unworried as it turns around him.

   She takes the lead in speaking to the bartender.

   "Hello darling, we've been told there's something of a meeting tonight?" Her voice lilts the question gently, almost crooning. Listening to her speak makes it easy to trust her, to want to impress her.

   So they are directed back, politely, and told that if they want drinks they need only place an order.

   (There's the faintest unease, in the back of the bartenders’ mind, when the twin footfalls make no sound. But in the warmth of the room, with the increasingly rich sound of the music, the feeling is quickly dismissed.)

\---

   The redhead starts, when they walk into the room, and moves uncertainly to greet them.

   "Oh, hi! Are you, you're here for the meeting too? Nice to meet you both, I'm Keyleth."

   (The air in the room rings the tiniest bit. The herbs in the kitchen unwilt, start sprouting roots from their dried bundles.)

   "Yeah," replies the man with an easy smile on his face, "We're here for it. I'm Vax'ildan, call me Vax."

   (The barkeep shudders for a moment, someone walking over their grave, before the music washes the instant away.)

   "Love the antlers, dear, and I'm Vex'ahlia. Call me Vex."

   (A mile deep in forest surrounding this town, hunter fires a beautiful shot - the profits from this hunt will feed her wife and son for the next three weeks. Three miles past that, a caravan that's been wandering with increasing worry in the growing dark find its way back to the path.)

\---

   The front door swings open again, and by this point patrons sitting in the draft have moved closer to the fireplace at the other end of the room, as a white-haired man steps through. The blue of his coat stands out stark against the warm browns and reds of the tavern, rippling behind him the slightest bit as he walks. And he walks with purpose, the glint of his glasses drawing the eye away from the odd weapon holstered on his belt.  
   (This is calculated. The sound of his steps, the color and cut of his clothing, even the tilt of his head; this man is planned right down to the faint smirk on his face. _I'm charming_ , says the look, _I'm so fucking charming and clever and bright, and that's all there is to say about me. Look away._ )

   He smiles at the bartender and it doesn't touch the coldness in his eyes but, well, he's very polite. People will ignore a lot of warning signs in the face of good manners. As he inquires about any meetings occurring on the premises, a flute solo breaks out from the band, daring and dramatic. When he glances over, one of the gnomes in the group is standing on a table as the crowd cheers around him.

   He rolls his eyes at the theatrics and sweeps - his coat rippling and his hair catching the firelight - down the hall to the banquet room. When he enters three pairs of eyes lock onto him.

\---

   The redhead starts, "Oh, are you also here -"

   "For the meeting?" he interrupts, "Yes."

   For a moment she looks unsure, before flushing in faint irritation. An awkward silence settles over the room, as the dark-haired woman cuts in with a gentle, "And who are you, dear?"

   (There's a regality to her, and for a moment he almost spills it all out to impress her, to apologize to the other woman, to get the man in the corner to say _anything_ \- the words bubble up in his mouth but he holds them.)

   "I'm Percival, but it's Percy, please."

   (In a shadowed corner of the only other tavern in town, a man grins at the woman he's picked up for the evening. He doesn't recognize her - she was a child when his mercenary company taught her town a ‘lesson’ by killing her father the mayor - and he's too drunk to catch the blade calluses on her hands. Tonight, she will be the one to walk away from their encounter.)

   They continue the business of introductions, four people tucked into a back room at The Salty Orc, as the front door swings open once more.

\---

 

   The sound comes first, a low roll of thunder drowned out by hearty laughter, as a goliath and a gnome tromp into the tavern. With them comes a - the tavern is already in a good mood, the music is interesting and new, drinks are flowing freely - but with these two comes a good _feeling_.

   The bartender grins at them, and calls out, "Come in from that storm in order a drink!" The instinct to welcome these two is strong, and none of the unease from greeting the other strangers remains, especially not after they smile back.

   (Maybe alone, they would make the bar uneasy. Together, though? The genuine camaraderie between them, and the warmth they exude, it's infectious.)

   He downs an ale while she asks about the meeting, and they are directed back easily. The goliath leaves a tip that would cover the cost of three more drinks. He’s kind, and won’t take it back.

   As they go to the hall the woman catches the eye of the flute player at the other end of the long room. He winks at her outrageously, putting his whole body into the motion, and she laughs again. There's a second after she turns away where he looks almost awed. (She has a lovely laugh.)

   The song softens for a moment before whirling off into another chorus. It's loud enough to carry down the short hall, to ripple faintly into the room as the door opens.

\---

   Before anyone else can talk, the smiling gnome speaks up. "I'm Pike, it's so nice to meet you all! Is this everyone?"

   (Some unnamed tension in the room eases, when her name hits the air. In a house on the edge of this town, a boy blinks awake, his fever breaking at last.)

   The goliath nods, turning his gaze from his friend to the room at large. "Right, yeah, 'm Grog. Good to meetcha."

   (The floor shakes, faintly, in a way that cannot be attributed to the thunder outside. Behind the bar in an alley the loser of a scuffle helps their friend stand. The battle rage slowly burns away as the two laugh ruefully. They'll win the next one.)

   They go around the table again, introducing themselves, and when that's done they sit. There is an odd sensation in the group, that they are waiting for one more person.

\---

 

   In the tavern, the music twists and twines and hums, a living thing, a serpent, an eagle, the wind - the flutist picks up the melody, bringing it all to a stunning crescendo. It’s building, building, a wave about to break when his voice rings out above it.

   “Thank you all for the warm welcome, this is Doctor Dranzel’s Traveling Troupe, I’ve been Burt Reynolds, Esq., remember to tip your barkeep, and,”

   The music gasps, holds right at the edge and trembles faintly on one high note of fiddle that the other gnome in the group draws out and out and out -

   “Goodnight!” There’s a flash of purple light and he’s vanished, and the music crashes _down_ on the crowd and a cheer rises up to meet it.

   He steps out of his arcane door into the hallway to the banquet room, and when he pushes open the door they stare at him. He smiles a showman’s smile, and says “Now I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve gathered you all here today.”

\---

   Lazy-calm, Vax speaks up from the chair beside his sister, "I think we might also be wondering who you are, friend."

   "So right, my friend," the gnome replies, "I'm Scanlan."

   (At the end of the bar a poet gasps, scribbling down verse. _And oh that marvelous sound/such entrancing dissonance/I cannot breathe /I shake, in fearful awe/I love, in awful fear._ )

   Yet _another_ round of introductions later, and Scanlan's smile never wavers.

   "So," he drawls once the conversation is dying a slow and awkward death, "let's get down to business." And his eyes flare with a solid purple light, and a glyph writes itself on the door behind him. No eavesdropping, that's how he prefers this kind of thing to go. That's what he tells himself, anyway, because he's never actually done this before.)

   Once the reaching for weapons and shouting and careful, evaluating glances slow down, something hardens in his expression.

   "The gods are silent," he almost snarls, "I'm sure at least some of you have noticed."

   Pike set her mace down on the table, looking troubled, and says, "Yes. Normally Sarenrae is close at hand, but when I reached out... I thought maybe it was me."

   Grog hums briefly, sitting his axe on the table as well (it creaks faintly) before patting her on the back.  
   When it's clear no one else is going to respond, Scanlan clears his dry throat and says, "It's not you. Or if it is, it's not _just_ you. The clerics in this town can't get any divine magic to work either." It looks like Percy is going to interrupt, but Scanlan pushes forward. "Not even just this town, because I've checked all over. From here to Ank'harel - even _Vasselheim_ can't get a word from them, and you normally can't get those people to shut up about it."

   Vex goes a step beyond setting her weapon down and sits too. Vax looms behind her, shadows moving strangely across his face. His outline is hazy, both there and not-there as he rests his hands on the back of her chair.

   "Something like that would scare a lot of people," she states diplomatically. "What happened to them, do you think?"

   Everyone else drifts back into their chairs, still uncertain, still tasting the faint touch of adrenaline in the air, and Percy groans. He tugs off his glasses, pinches the bridge of his nose, and offers, "Maybe they left? Maybe they don't care? Why should they."

   Grog frowns, voice rumbling faintly as he answers, "Then we gotta drag them back. They have people here who depend on them, they can't just leave."

   Vax jumps into the conversation then, and despite all the lazy confidence he's projected since the twins entered the tavern he's clearly anxious. His eyes dart from person to person and his fingers flex and tighten on the back of Vex's chair. He's an instant from pacing, moments from walking away and only she recognizes it, but instead of vanishing into the dark he opens his mouth.

   “She - _They_ wouldn’t abandon their faithful like that,” he declares with deep certainty. Once he’s said it though, he looks a little lost.

   “I don’t think they left either,” Scanlan hastens to assure the room, “but that means -”

   “Something happened to them.” Keyleth’s voice is rough with something like anger, something like sorrow and resentment, as she continues, “Something happened to them and now we have to clean up their mess.”

   They go in circles for a while, theorizing what might’ve happened and trying to come up with answers to the _many_ questions that surround this problem, but they land on the fact that they need more information. If a timeline can be pieced together, they need it. If answers can be sought, they must do the seeking.

   Finally, a frustrated Percy shoves his glasses back on and turns a challenging gaze on the other six. He sneers, a bit cruel, “Why is this _our_ problem, exactly?”

   Keyleth responds by staring right back, letting the pale green light she hides so well bloom in her eyes until they glow against her face. Scanlan’s flicker earlier was a party trick, something that could be explained away as a trick of the light if it was really necessary. This display is about proving a point.

   She looks otherworldly, standing powerful and angry from her chair. Heat radiates from her in a visible way, distorting the light in the room. There’s a scent - a heavy perfume of flowers that leaves an iron tang in the back of the throat - that drifts on a breeze in this closed room.

   (It’s suddenly sweltering, the first hot day after the start of Spring that hits unexpectedly and forces all the flowers to bloom. The others are unbothered, or if they’re bothered, not showing it.)

   “ **Until we find out what happened** ,” Keyleth Winter-Killer says in a voice that echoes with power and wrath and necessity, before she goes _still_ -

   The energy flowing through the room stops. The heat dissipates and the flower smell fades and her shoulders shake faintly as she forces the power down. She blinks _hard_ and her eyes return to an unassuming mortal green. Her head sags down. She looks so tired.

   (They’re all sympathetic, of course, because it’s so hard to hold onto oneself sometimes, while the other parts pull towards something _more_.)

   “We shouldn’t have to carry this. It’s not fair,” Keyleth says softly under the curtain of her hair. Still, she sets her shoulders and looks back at Percy, determined. “Until we find out what’s happened,” she states carefully, weighing each word, “We’re basically gods.”

   The truth rings in her voice and the group considers themselves.

   “Well, shit,” Scanlan quips, “We’d better do something about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> There you have it! They're not quite gods, but there is something there.  
> Title for this fic and for the series are from the song Fruit Tree by Nick Drake.  
> I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know, I appreciate every comment. There is definitely more to come with this AU as I have a lot of it outlined out, but I'm a pretty slow writer so updates to the series will be sporadic.


End file.
